


destiny means you can turn right or left (but fate is a one way street)

by Tator



Series: davenzi drabbles [16]
Category: Druck | SKAM (Germany)
Genre: Bad Parenting, Established Relationship, Light Angst, M/M, talking about feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-09
Updated: 2019-09-09
Packaged: 2020-10-13 13:36:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 807
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20583365
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tator/pseuds/Tator
Summary: Matteo keeps his eyes trained up. “Do you think we’re destined to become our parents?”David doesn’t answer right away. He’s not surprised at the question, though he stalls like he is. He feels like part of him was expecting this for a while after hearing Matteo have a rushed and quiet conversation with his father that ended closer to yelling than talking. Matteo threw his phone near the window, and he didn’t leave his room for the rest of day. That was earlier this week, and David could tell something had been eating up at him since.





	destiny means you can turn right or left (but fate is a one way street)

**Author's Note:**

> For the prompt:   
Hey! If you feel like it maybe one where they talk abt their parents? Kind of based on the cleaning in the middle of the night one, cause it seems like a lot of Matteo’s insecurities stem from how his dad used to treat him. Maybe smth abt Matteo explaining that to David? I know I’m being vague I’m sorry sjdjjd (Also your writing is the best and I check your blog multiple times a day to check for updates!)
> 
> you can find the original post [here](https://bagels-and-seagulls.tumblr.com/post/187104808183/hey-if-you-feel-like-it-maybe-one-where-they-talk) :)
> 
> title is from a quote by Paulo Coelho - "I can control my destiny, but not my fate. Destiny means there are opportunities to turn right or left, but fate is a one-way street. I believe we all have the choice as to whether we fulfil our destiny, but our fate is sealed."

“Do you think-” Matteo stops himself. They were laying in bed, wrapped around in blankets and each other, trying to get away from the cold that was seeping its way through the cracks in the window, trying to enjoy a quiet night in while the rest of the world is up and dancing and too loud. 

David turns onto his side and hums. 

“Nevermind,” Matteo says and stares up at the ceiling. 

“What is it?” David asks quietly and grips at Matteo’s shirt. Matteo doesn’t say anything, and David hums again and shuffles closer. 

Matteo keeps his eyes trained up. “Do you think we’re destined to become our parents?” 

David doesn’t answer right away. He’s not surprised at the question, though he stalls like he is. He feels like part of him was expecting this for a while after hearing Matteo have a rushed and quiet conversation with his father that ended closer to yelling than talking. Matteo threw his phone near the window, and he didn’t leave his room for the rest of day. That was earlier this week, and David could tell something had been eating up at him since. 

The silence must seem like some type of answer to Matteo because he swallows and turns to face away from David, thick with disappointment and something else, something stickier, something sadder. David just shuffles in closer again and wraps the blankets tight over Matteo’s shoulders like the blankets could shield Matteo from the bad thoughts already stuck in his head, like David could hide him away from all the things that have ever made him sad. 

“I don’t think so,” David says into his shoulder. “I don’t think I’ll end up like mine.” 

“You don’t talk about them.” 

David rubs his nose on the back of Matteo’s shoulder and thinks about what he wants to say. “They’re… average, I guess. They’re polite and courteous. They know all their neighbors and all the stories. My dad works in an office, and my mom nannies for a family upstairs. My mom makes dinner for my dad every night after work, and they go to Synagogue together every week. 

“They were perfectly fine parents. They didn’t yell. They didn’t let us watch TV after dark. They came to all of our football games. They just don’t understand me, I don’t think. They tried. For a while. But I think it was all a little too much for them, and it was too much for me too with school and everything else. My parents were the ones that said maybe I should move in with Laura,” David says quietly. “I call them every other week,” he adds after a second.

They lay together in another silence that doesn’t feel as tense this time, more pondering, and it stretches so long that David wonders if Matteo fell asleep, wonders if that would be a better outcome than dragging their family drama out onto the floor and examining it with a red pen. 

“My dad is mean,” Matteo whispers, and David shoves his face into the back of his neck, worried that by the end of the night he’s going to have to book a ticket down south with enough money for bail. “I’m afraid I’m going to be like him one day.” 

“Why?” 

“He yells a lot, when he’s frustrated or mad or whatever. And he would throw things sometimes, too.” David can hear the silent _I do too_ that Matteo left out, and can’t help but think of all the ways that he’s different. 

“Did he ever throw things-” David stops, not knowing if he can stomach the words coming out of his mouth or if even thinking about them too long was going to make bile rise up his throat. 

“At me?” Matteo finishes for him because he always had been a little stronger than him. “No. My mom did a couple of times, during episodes. My dad just mostly called me names.” 

“Names?” David repeats with his throat dry and his fingers wrapped tightly in the blankets, thinking about a quiet boy who was afraid and all alone with a cut on his palm. 

“Lazy and useless and stuff,” Matteo says easily, and David doesn’t know how he can, how he can say all these things like they’re facts, like they’re known. Because just hearing the horrendous, terrible, _lies_ come out of his mouth make David’s chest cramp up like his lungs were collapsing. 

“You’re not, you know,” David corrects. “You’re not lazy or useless or anything like that.” 

“He’s getting married in Italy next year,” Matteo responds like that’s an answer, and it doesn’t satisfy David at all. 

“You’re not going to be like him,” David says and thinks about cleaning supplies, and scratches, and holding hands, and a boy who doesn’t deserve any of this.


End file.
